


Lazy Sundays

by Kiyuomi



Series: Pliroy Week Fics [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Boob Sweater, Cuddling, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Laundry Piles, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pliroy Week 2017, Rated T for Yuri's cursing, Skater Gossip, Sleepy Sundays, Tickling, dragon dildos, fluffiest fluff, tickle fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 07:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10157567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyuomi/pseuds/Kiyuomi
Summary: “Is this,” Yuri feels the fabric a second time, reaching out until his hand goes through and yup, “is this your boob window sweater?”-Being the king’s boyfriend, it turns out, means getting tackled into warm laundry, tickling his boyfriend into submission and eating slightly burnt fish for dinner while watching Wall-E.





	

                Dating an ice skater means a rather rocky schedule. It means dealing with breakdowns at 5 am, getting frantic calls before sunrise because a certain somebody decided to overwork their body yet again, monitoring their eating because for some weird reason ice skaters both eat too much and not enough, and forcing them to go to bed because yes, they can relax later, and yes, the Archie remake television show will be available online after their competition. Then there’s the whole dealing with the competition itself, and the half-asleep dates, and watching them conk out on the public bench because they’ve been practicing on three-hour sleep for two weeks now.

                Put two skaters together, and you’ve got chaos.

                Yuri skates Monday to Friday until he finds out JJ skates Monday to Saturday, proceeds to chew out his boyfriend for overworking and then, because somehow he’s also an over worker, ended up adding Saturday practice to his schedule. Tuesdays are katsu night with Yuuri and Victor, and if JJ doesn’t visit his little siblings at least twice a week Yuri’s fairly certain his little sister is going to give him a death threat. Isabella and JJ make time every other Thursday and Yuri ensures to eat his grandpa’s piroshkis every Saturday. Yakov, begrudgingly, allows Yuri to take over his kitchens on Wednesdays and JJ somehow ends up shopping once a week with Otabek and Leo, usually to force both into ugly outfits for a later occasion in the week. Yuri still remembers the one time he met Otabek in a hot pink vest and ripped sweatpants, receiving an Instagram notification from Phichit laughing at Leo’s neon green star shaped glasses and the ugliest, brightest red lipstick he’s ever seen. They gladly repaid the favor by forcing JJ to meet Yuri for a date in a cleavage window sweater, but to be honest, Yuri’s still not sure if it was JJ or _him_ that was meant to be punished. They’ll figure it out in a few months.

                Sunday ends up the one day that Yuri and JJ can laze around at home.

                By laze around, Yuri means cuddle in bed until one in the afternoon when Mila calls him for the fifth time to pick up his phone. She needs his address to send her packages to, and is always instructed never to open them because he’s fairly certain there’s some very crazy thing in there, and JJ keeps writing “dragon dildos” on the box tape.

                Yuri gets out of bed at 1:45, proceeds to take a 52-minute shower and takes out the whole flounder JJ put in marinade the night before to cook in the stove. It takes fourteen minutes for the oven to hit 400 degrees and he spends every second of that time throwing dirty laundry at JJ until he wakes up, protesting when Yuri tries to suffocate him with dirty boxers from a rather eventful night that prior Tuesday.

                It turned out neither of them were good at tying knots.

                “Y-Yuri,” JJ coughs, squirming when Yuri throws an inside-out sock at his face, “I’m up, I’m up! Yuri, bleh, _oh my god_ , that almost went in my mouth!”

                “Good,” Yuri deadpans, but JJ’s staring up at him with two socks over his messy bedhead and a trail of drool and dirty underwear around his neck and he can’t help laughing, emptying the rest of the laundry basket over his boyfriend to rumbling screeches. “Taste my fury, Jean-Jacques! Promise you’ll never wake up after noon again!”

                “That’s impossible; you never get up until one!” JJ wrangles the netted basket from Yuri’s hand, grinning with wild ambition as he throws it over Yuri, shimmying it to his hips. “Haha, into the dirty laundry basket you go, dragon dildo collector!”

                “That’s Mila,” Yuri denies through the neon yellow netting. “And they’re possibly My Little Pony dolls, you freak of nature!”

                JJ gives up and goes to shower laughing while Yuri curses him out for making him clean up the laundry and the bedspread. The laundry goes in with the old bedsheets and Yuri chuckles on sight to the little blood spots on the edge of the sheet. JJ had stumbled in to their bedroom, “slightly buzzed” from his concert, and tripped on the side of the bedframe. He had screamed, woken up Yuri who saw the gash on his leg and proceeded to scream, and they spent an hour fixing up his leg and ordering a new phone back for the time he smashed his phone against the ground mid-concert. It left small dots that no amount of laundry detergent could rid.

                Not that Yuri had seriously tried.

                Laundry goes in at 3:30 and the fish is only somewhat baked by the time he has to move it out to the dryer. The smell of the marinated fish, lemony and thick with onion, rises up and Yuri smiles as he breathes in the scents of it with the fresh lavender of the detergent. The sound of their shower runs in the background until the dryer hits the three-minute mark and begins a slow rumble that takes over the room. Every vibration echoes in the ground and Yuri ensures to push back the flower vase to center of the dining table, and move all the plates at the kitchen island to the cabinets, just in case.

                The last time the laundry machine had gone crazy, he came out with glass in his big toe, okay. There’s nothing wrong with being safe.

                Not that he or JJ practice particularly safe measures in their loft, but Yuri tries.

                Mila calls him when the dryer rumbles a last time to complain about Georgi complaining about his love life, and he puts her on speaker to the sound of cleaning out the dryer’s dust. The warm clothes go into a clean laundry basket meant for sorting when they’ve cooled a bit and after lunch, when JJ’s made his rounds cleaning the tables and chairs and vacuuming the floors. Mila mentions how Victor needs to learn to keep his hands off Yuuri during practice and Yuri growls in agreement because he knows, Mila, he has to practice with them too and can someone please tell Georgi to stop his monologues of their “inner thoughts”; if he has to hear Georgi’s interpretation of Yuuri call Victor his “precious eggy rice” one more time he might just murder someone.

                Thump.

                That wasn’t his imagination of a body dropping to the ground.

                That was JJ taking the laundry basket of clean, just dried clothes, and dumping them on the yet-to-be-cleaned carpet in a very messy pile.

                Thump!

                That was JJ tackling Yuri into said pile.

                “What the literal fuck, Leroy!” Yuri spits, pawing at his boyfriend with displeasure partly at being tackled (he’s an ice skater, _not_ a hockey player) and partly because he just spent an hour and a half cleaning their clothes, the dickhead. “Get off, I just cleaned these!”

                “I knooow, babe,” JJ grins, ruffling Yuri’s hair and cheekily poking at his cheeks, “that’s why they’re so warm. I need to warm up after you took all the hot water and my warm blankets.” Ah. Vengeance.

                “Oh,” Yuri slits his eyes, calculating, “so this is my fault then?” He accentuates his words with a well-timed poke at JJ’s side, startling the other.

                “Kitten, come on,” is that a hint of nerves in the king’s voice? Yuri thinks so. “Let’s just cuddle in the warm pile.” Yuri thinks back immediately to the night before, when he had simply wanted to respond to Otabek’s texts and was repeatedly put off by JJ’s demands to cuddle. Okay, no mercy time. “Join meeeEE, Yuri, No!”

                “Vengeance it is!” Yuri cackles, diving headfirst at JJ’s sides, scrabbling his fingers under the worn grey tee. Oh, JJ is a big fat liar—his body is way too warm to have endured a cold shower. “I heard the shower; you lie.” Yuri smirks when his hands slide up easily to tickle at JJ’s ribs, earning him a loud screech.

                “Y-Yuri! Yu-ahhaaa, noahaha! Yuri, Yuri!” JJ calls, kicking up his legs and failing to block his body. The laundry beneath them shifts with the movements, burrowing them deeper into the colorful dent of plaid and leopard and patches, and his shirt just shifts up more with every squirm. Yuri has about negative fifty percent mercy in his body because as soon as the fabric catches near his underarms, the tiger’s fingers go straight to his armpits. “Yuri! YURI, ahahahAHA!”

                “This is what you deserve!” Yuri crows, but he’s smiling and laughing along to JJ’s loud screeching. The Canadian slaps his arm at least twice, shaking his head against pinstriped pants as he tries to stop his wriggling fingers by squeezing his arms down, but all it does is trap his devious ticklers where it hurts. “I can’t believe you made me do the laundry, again.”

                JJ doesn’t even protest, just laughing and squirming at the sensations, mouthing “no”s and “Yuri”s at him. Yuri’s ready to just let him go, but then the asshole goes and hooks his pair of cheetah print boxers on his toe and throws it at Yuri’s head.

                It’s a declaration of war.

                Yuri probably spends fifteen minutes destroying the mental five-year-old that claims to be his boyfriend. By the time he wriggles his hands out from under JJ’s shirt, the Canadian is gasping out giggles and hiccups, wiping at slightly red eyes and rosy cheeks. Yuri makes another menacing clench of his fingers just to watch his boyfriend squeal, grinning smugly.

                “That’s what you get,” Yuri smirks, sitting back on a polka dot sweater. The view from here is admittedly nice, though Yuri would never say it aloud. “King my ass.”

                “I’m,” JJ gasps, somehow always snarky, “the best king. I’m just the best.” One arm grabs the closest article of clothing, something white and stretchy, and tosses it lazily at Yuri’s face.

                It would ignite a second round of tickling if not for Yuri realizing that the hole he’s eying JJ at is neither the head hole or the bottom of the sweater. He pulls it off his head, ignoring the gasp “Yuri, your hair!”, to touch the cloth.

                “Is this,” Yuri feels the fabric a second time, reaching out until his hand goes through and yup, “is this your boob window sweater?” He holds up the thin white thing, and there it is, the shining hole that he remembers so well.

                “He owns a boob window sweater?”

                That’s neither Yuri nor JJ.

Yuri never took Mila off speaker phone.

                “Fuck.”

                “Language, kitten!” JJ grins, sunnily responding to Mila, “of course, my fellow meme connoisseur. Only the finest boob windows in this household. None of that pencil sweater dress boob window madness.” Of course JJ and Mila would connect over this.

                “Oh, of course not. I’d be terribly upset of my darling Yura dated a guy who went for pencil sweater boob dresses and not the classiest of sweaters. Good job, Yuri!”

                Of. Course.

                “Though of course,” oh no, that’s Mila’s “sweet” voice. Yuri visibly cringes much to JJ’s pleasure, earning him a bout of cackling and inevitable teasing for the next week. “I wouldn’t say no to anyone who gets Yuri to have a tickle fight when he’s supposed to be prepping a nice fish lunch for four.”

                “The fish is in the oven.” Yuri gapes, horror flashing over his face, and both JJ and Mila laugh as he storms off, intent because it doesn’t smell like burnt yet, okay, it’s maybe a bit more of a sour lemon than before but it’s not bad yet and he’s scrambling to slide on his navy paw-print gloves and pull open the door, ready to embrace a world of charcoal and burnt and

                The fish is perfectly cooked.

                It’s a light brown, coated in breadcrumbs that only slightly hinder on too-dark on the corners. The fish itself gives away to a few experimental pokes of a spatula, and Yuri is happy, so happy, to see that nothing from the fish to the lemon juices to the caramelized onions smell a bit like burnt.

                Except for a third of the fish’s bottom half that lay a little too close to the fire of the oven that’s pretty much brown, but whatever, JJ can have that part.

                “Yuri, babe, is it salvageable? Do we need to call takeout?” JJ calls from the living room, because one of the hardest working athletes of the world can’t get his butt up from the laundry pile to see whether his meal is edible. There’s a reason he’s getting the slightly burnt part.

                “It’s trash suitable for you,” he calls back, careful about lifting the pan onto the stove and getting out plates. Yuri had meant to cook something to serve with the fish, maybe rice, some peas, but in all the ruckus the thought completely left his mind. It’s also no longer anything close to lunch. “Early dinner?”

                “Early dinner,” JJ affirms, voice suddenly near. Yuri jumps, raising an eyebrow to JJ’s smug face leaning in, resting on his shoulder. The Canadian leans in for a kiss and Yuri sighs, obliging, just a little peck. “I call movie night?”

                “Get off me,” Yuri rolls his eyes, fond, cutting into the fish. The meat just flakes off the spine. “Go pick out something.”

                “I picked last time,” and the time before, and the time before then; Yuri’s not going to mention it if JJ won’t. “Babe, what do you want to watch?”

                “You clean up the laundry,” Yuri retorts. It’s Sunday afternoon and he feels good, serving up the fish and JJ shuffles away to open the fridge, pulling out two cartons of rice from two days ago. It’s enough for them both, and a plate goes into the microwave. “Something old, I don’t know.”

                “Wall-E?” The robot movie JJ always cries at. Yuri can’t remember if they restocked on tissues.

                “Sure.” The microwave beeps ready, and he scoops the rice onto their plates, carefully balancing both as JJ moves ahead, already shuffling through their movie collection in search of the right one. Yuri lays out two owl coasters, one pink and one yellow, and smells the lemony onion scent that still wafts upward from their meal. There’s two more, smaller, coasters that sit on the table, and Yuri goes to make them a batch of tea.

                JJ finds the movie with a cry of success, hopping to slide it into their player. By the time the water has boiled and tea is brought to the table, the opening trailers are just about over and JJ is grinning at him, forks and knives placed neatly on their plates. Yuri picks up a cup and takes a sip.

                He loves Sundays.

**Author's Note:**

> to make up for the feels that it my last fic, 3 I bring you this flufffest
> 
> warm laundry and cuddling and tickle fights on a Sunday <3


End file.
